The Last Battle
by Dawgs00
Summary: I've updated with the second chapter. This was the last chapter I had written back in '01. Please review and tell me how you like the direction I took.
1. The Last Battle

**I wrote this several years ago; I believe it was back in 2001. It's just been sitting on my computer till now. When I happened upon this site, I decided to dust it off, and share with you guys. I do have a second chapter that I also wrote, but I'm not entirely sure how much I like it. For now I'll leave this chapter in your hands and see how all of you approve. Following that and some editing to the second chapter, I'll post that also. Enjoy. And of course I do not own the Wheel of Time. It belongs entirely to Robert Jordan.**

**ETA: Thank you for being critical in your review. I have edited in some of the places you pointed out. Please, keep the R&R coming. If you're not up to writing a lengthy review pointing out my mistakes, I am always happy to receive pats on the back telling me how nice a job I have done. :)  
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Chapter 1: The Last Battle

Jherik was weary. He and his fellow Asha'man had been fighting day and night with little rest, not that any of them expected much anyway. He raised a hand to wipe his unshaven face, and noticed that his hand had still not stopped trembling. He wished he could ignore it, but it bothered him. A man should be able to control his own body, but the bloody hand would not stop trembling. It had nothing to do with the temperature although it was very cold. Besides, he was immune to the effects of the weather.

Jherik was a tall man. His hair was cropped short like most of the other Asha'man, though he wore his short more for convenience than to conform with the others. Two pins, the sword and the dragon, both given to him by the M'hael, shone brightly on his collar in contrast to the dull black of the dusty cloak he wore buttoned to his throat. The wind whipped his cloak around his heron mark blade still sheathed in a plain leather scabbard, so he untangled it while concentrating to avoid looking at his hand. The heron marked him as a blade master, though many might believe that an Asha'man had no need to learn the sword. Many might also think he was too young to have earned the sword, but the M'hael demanded that all Asha'man learn quickly, and that went just as much for the sword as for the Power. Even from within the void, he could hardly ignore the bite he felt every time he breathed the icy air. His nose was running, and his eyes would not stop watering--he was miserable. And tired.

Shayol Ghul's peaks were blacker than night with lightning frequently crashing into them from the even darker clouds that hung in a sky that seemed to be sick and dying. What was unsettling was that the lightning, although a natural phenomenon in the Blasted Lands, was now being directed by the Power to strike at the living, and that certainly did nothing to help his foul mood. The Shadow and the Lord Dragon's army fought for control over where the next bolt would strike like two thirsty men fighting over a drop of water.

Jherik had been resting, crouched on his heels, for some time now, and his calves were beginning to ache. He didn't want to stand up, and he knew if he sat down completely he would never find the strength to get back up. He stared at the violence and destruction that he and the others had caused. Dead bodies--Asha'man, Aes Sedai, Aiel, horses, wolves, not to mention Trollocs and Fades--lay at the feet of the living that were still fighting at the base of the dark mountain. And the battle was by no means over. They had been fighting for weeks, but it had only just begun.

It still raged all around the dead bodies, worse yet, it trampled over them. There was no room to fight without stepping on somebody's leg or arm, or sometimes worse. The smell was nauseating, but that could be easily ignored from within the void. Even worse was the smell of the strong, dry wind carried from the peaks of Shayol Ghul. Compared with the stench of the Dark One's home, the smell of decay was merely a nuisance.

Screams and howls from both man and beast alike pierced his ears constantly. A man could go mad hearing those sounds for as long as he had. He hadn't known the Aiel could scream. He guessed this place could even make a people as tough as the Aiel feel terror. But who wouldn't feel terror at the possibility of being burned to a cinder at any moment? At least he'd have the benefit of seeing the weave coming before he died; that was, if it came from another man. There would be no chance of feeling the tingle that warned a man that a woman was embracing the Power. He had long since gone numb to that warning. Like he, all who could wield the Power did. He would just have to anticipate an attack from anybody. The One Power was all around--it was part him, or he part of it...

Jherik leaned further back on his heels, and had to wrap his arms around his knees to keep his balance. He was lost in thought as he watched the dry wind blow swirls of dust between the dead and dying bodies. Some of those still living were within his ability to heal, but he must conserve his strength. Besides, he was not there to heal the dying; he was there to protect others from ending up on the ground with them. Suddenly a voice roused him from his thoughts. "You've rested long enough, Asha'man. It's time to give some of the weary a rest." Jherik chuckled to himself. Give the weary a rest. Were there any who were not tired?

He looked up at the man possibly even more battle weary than he. The other Asha'man and Jherik were dressed identically. Both possessed the same two pins, but the other man was far more powerful than him, so naturally Jherik deferred to him. He stood up, and wanted to cry aloud. His muscles protested; they had knotted up, and they demanded more rest. He pushed those thoughts away. Better to just let them skim off the void. Now was not the time to think of more rest. He could rest all he wanted when he was dead. He had a job to do.

The Lord Dragon was somewhere within the army, linked into a large circle of Asha'man, Aes Sedai, Aiel Wise Ones, and Sea Folk. Their duty was to battle the Forsaken, and more importantly, the Dark One. They had Callandor with them, and some more powerful sa'angreals or so the Lord Dragon said, but were they enough? Best not think of that either; it was not his battle.

His job was to protect the armies from destruction, and to provide escape for when the Lord Dragon won--or lost. Who knew what the Dark One would lash out with if sealed again? Three thousand years ago it was the taint. Might he do worse this time? What if the Lord Dragon wasn't able to defeat him? Jherik shook his head angrily, he shouldn't think of such a thing. The Lord Dragon would surely protect them. It was in the prophecies. But there was that one man who said the prophecies never stated that the Lord Dragon was going to win Tarmon Gaidon. Light! Couldn't he think of something better than the end of the world?

Jherik was stirred from his thoughts by movement from the Aiel front. Dressed in light browns that blended easily with the dusty ground around Shayol Ghul, the Aiel could make themselves invisible on flat, unobstructed ground if they wanted. However, now they stood in a mixed line of men and women, dancing with spears flashing. He had watched their dance before, and pictured it as a beautiful and deadly art form. The Aiel did not actually form a line. They fought in what looked like a pack of brown clad dancers, if dancers carried spears and skewered their enemies. They were effective though; hardly anything ever broke through the Aiel front. This was why he was surprised to see a Fade and handful of Trollocs break through that very line and start for the resting Asha'man. The Shadow knew what the greatest threat was--at least the greatest next to the Lord Dragon himself--and what better time to attack but when they were tired?

Jherik lashed out with the power, and there was death. They never even had a chance. His stomach still lurched at the sight of living creatures bursting into blood and bone--even Trollocs. The man who had stirred him from his rest earlier clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, soldier. See, you've had enough rest. Now move on to some place where you'll continue to be of use." The man smiled a smile that never touched his eyes. His eyes said that he'd seen too much, and would never truly smile again.

Jherik nodded his head and turned away towards a cluster of Asha'man slashing at weaves that the Dreadlords flung at the Lord Dragon's army. He had to weave in out of Aiel and men on horseback battling Fades and Trollocs. He occasionally cast a weave or struck out with his sword at random Trollocs or darkfriends who were unfortunate enough to place themselves in front of his path. Enemies killed by the Power never knew what hit them, but the ones brought down by blade could still be heard screaming as he continued at the quick pace he had set for himself. He never even missed a step.

For the most part, the battle had shown little use of the Power, at least in the eyes of those who could not wield it. In reality, the One Power was used to protect the armies from destruction. Both Asha'man and Aes Sedai slashed at weavings from the Dreadlords aimed to destroy thousands of the Lord Dragon's army, and the Shadow did the same when the Dragon's army made a similar attempt. The true battle raged unseen, but that made it no less dangerous. If either side were to falter, the result would be catastrophic. That side would be utterly destroyed.

He was careful to step over the dark liquid that flowed out of a crack down the side of the mountain. He had seen what it had done to those who were not cautious. Any who so much as touched the liquid could expect nothing less than a painful and sickening death. Another Trolloc made a step for him and collapsed before it had the chance to make a second, when he sensed movement behind him. A boot scrape to his rear left was all the warning he had.

Jherik cut the weaving that was targeted at his still turning head. He turned to face his enemy and flashed a cold smile at the Dreadlord. They learned the Asha'man's tricks quickly. Some even used to be Asha'man. Both sides had learned their enemy's tricks, so as to turn them on their foes. Jherik was lucky to have heard the man's footstep at all with the sound of battle all around him. If not for his enhanced senses and training, he would have been laid out beside the Trolloc he had just had killed.

The two men stood unmoving, unblinking, only staring at one another in extreme concentration. To many it would seem all they did was stare, but in fact they attacked, parried, and slashed at the weaves that were thrown at one another. The Dreadlord was a tall, handsome man. Dark hair and blue eyes that many women must have fallen for in his time. Despite all that he had seen, Jherik still felt that the flesh should reflect one's heart, but it had proven not so. If it had, this man would be fouler than a Trolloc, for his weaves were certainly evil. Now that he thought of it though, the Dreadlord's weavings were no more evil than his own. But that was not the point. He was only doing what he had to do to defend himself. Under normal circumstances he was not a violent man. If not for the Dark One and his evil creatures, he'd never have learned to wield the Power. Cursed darkspawn! He wished sometimes that he had burnt himself out months ago. Surely sitting in fear of the outcome of the Last Battle would be better than where he was now. They said that those cut off from the source died within a couple years, but even that must be better than a stray weave from a Dreadlord or a Fade's sword.

The man reached into his pocket, and spoke to Jherik with an evil grin, "I'm tired of your struggle. You've proven a worthy adversary, but I must end this now. I'm needed on the battle front, and you were just unfortunate to be in my way. Any other time, I might wish to play a little longer, but the Great Lord demands my presence. You will forgive me." At that, the Dreadlord's hand came out wielding a long, lance-like rod that must surely be too long to have fit in his pocket.

Jherik didn't know what it did, but it had to be an angreal or something of the sort. Possessing that the Dreadlord would have too much of an advantage. He was definitely this man's equal, but if he didn't act now, he would have no chance. He was already drawing at the Power to his limit, but he desperately clawed for more. He drew so much in, he felt his head would explode even without the Dreadlord's weaving. His bloody hand began to shake again; funny, but he hadn't noticed it had stopped. It felt like his brain was pounding through his ears, yet Jherik drew more still.

The Dreadlord's eyes widened with surprise and he exclaimed, "You fool, you'll kill yourself," as he continued to raise his weapon at him. Jherik thought it amusing for the Dreadlord to feel the need to warn him to not draw too much of the Power, when it was his intention to kill him anyway. Suddenly, he felt a tear in the cord that linked him to the source, and he knew it was time to release his weaving.

He struck out with a complex weave consisting mostly of fire and water, and watched as the Dreadlord's eyes widened further still in recognition and fear. The Dreadlord hastely attempted to cut Jherik's weave, but the weave was too complex and too powerful. A fly would have a better chance of swatting away a spider as it pounced. This was an all or nothing gambit from Jherik. He felt his connection to the source tearing as the weave settled on the Dreadlord. The Dreadlord's mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out, except for a dry, raspy, choking sound. Jherik collapsed to his knees even before the Dreadlord's twitching body fell to its side, the blood boiling from every opening, every pore. The Dreadlord's hand clenched and unclenched in rhythm with his final breaths. But Jherik was unaware, he had already welcomed the darkness. Maybe the ground wasn't so cold. It was soft too. Rest, at last.


	2. A New Toy

**Here is the second chapter that I wrote way back in 2001. I'm still not entirely sure if I like the direction I chose back then for this story. I would really appreciate your opinions on how you like this second chapter as opposed to the first. Thanks in advance, and enjoy.**

Chapter 2: A new toy

The first thing that Jherik noticed upon waking was that he couldn't touch the Source when he reached for it. The second was the pain--excruciating pain that made him see flashes of white and brought water to his eyes. He made another attempt to reach for the Source, this time more timidly, but the pain was just as intense, forcing him to lie still for a couple of minutes in order to catch his breath. He was severed from the Source. Oh light! He was severed, and it was his own fault. He had drawn so much of the Power, his connection to the True Source had been cut. But better this than the alternative--almost.

Everything began to come back to him--the brief struggle with the Dreadlord, the drawing of that strange weapon, and then Jherik drawing more than he could contain so as to defeat him. However, had he not done so, it would be his body lying on the ground instead of the other way around. But was being burnt out actually better than being dead. Had this happened several years ago, he would have said no, and wished himself in the grave, but things were different now. What could not be healed, had been. All he had to do was find himself an Aes Sedai, and she could easily return him to his previous strength.

Thinking of where an Aes Sedai might be caused Jherik to remember that he was still lying face down in the dusty, dry ground. He lifted his head and wiped at his face and eyes, spitting dirt out of his mouth. The body of the Dreadlord lay before him, as did masses of other bodies, contorted in unnatural positions that no living body would willingly allow itself to be bent. Fighting could still be heard in the distance, but none of it was nearby. But even a child could tell that it had been, and not that long ago.

Jherik was lucky to still be alive, twofold. Not only had he survived his battle with the Dreadlord, but he had also been fortunate enough to not been trampled to death by the fighting that ensued after he had passed out. How long had he been unconscious? That was not important! At least Jherik knew the battle--the war--was not over; he still had a chance to do his job, to protect the Lord Dragon's army, to still play a part, if only...

If only he weren't severed. Jherik stood up and brushed himself off. His sword lie in front of him, still covered in Trolloc and darkfriend blood, still wet. He wiped the blood off on a Trolloc's sleeve and returned it to his scabbard. So he hadn't been unconscious that long since burning himself out. Jherik winced at the thought of reaching for the Source again; the pain was unbearable. That's what was making his stomach do back-flips. That's what was strange about the whole ordeal. He did not like being cut off from the source by any means, but at least that made sense. At least he understood severing. But this pain was unnatural. Granted, he had never been severed before, but he had heard from others who had, and none of them experienced any pain.

Well, no matter, Jherik was sure that it would not be a problem. He probably only hit his head when he passed out, and that's what was causing the pain when he reached for the Source. What he needed to do was go find himself an Aes Sedai to heal him, and then get himself back into the battle. He should consider himself lucky that the battle hadn't ended with him still unconscious, then he would've been in real trouble. Cut off from the source, and alone at the foot of Shayol Ghul--except for the dead that is.

Jherik shivered at the thought, and it occurred to him that he'd been shivering from the cold for some time now too. He must get control of himself and concentrate. Stop letting a little setback like this get under his skin. He was severed, yes, but it was reversible, and there were Aes Sedai nearby who could heal him. That line of thinking allowed Jherik to relax and regain the calm required to ignore the effects of the weather. Slowly he felt the cold slip away, and in seconds he stopped shivering, as if it were somebody else's body that was standing at the foot of Shayol Ghul with the icy wind whipping down at him.

Allowing himself to ignore the temperature also helped him collect his thoughts. What was that weapon that the Dreadlord had? Surely it must be an angreal of some sort, and although he might not be able to use it now, he intended to have it when he was healed. Jherik walked over to the body of the Dreadlord, and saw the rod still clutched in the man's fist.

I wonder what it does, he thought to himself. He shouldn't be able to do anything with it if he picked it up, with him being cut off from the Source, but only a fool toyed with something he did not understand. It could be a ter'angreal, and not all of those required the Power to work. Then again, he couldn't very well leave it there for another Dreadlord to find. Anyway, he was cut off, so it probably was safe for him to touch. He wasn't going to be able to do anything with it in his condition, and he wasn't going to allow it to fall into the Shadow's hands again.

Jherik leaned over, and pulled hard at the rod, expecting the Dreadlord's grip to be tight, but it came free easily, causing him to have to step back awkwardly to keep from falling back down. It was light, he thought as he tested the weight of it in his hand. It was some strange material, too smooth for stone, but certainly hard enough. It didn't look like metal though. Jherik knew of no metal that had that shade of brilliant white. The thickest part--the handle--fit nicely into the palm of his hand, while the other end came nearly to a point, but was rounded at the end. Surely, not a weapon used to stab, but still a weapon of some kind, or else the Dreadlord would have never drawn it on Jherik. What would have been the point? A bluff maybe? No, he doubted that.

For some reason, the weapon was beginning to feel heavier. No, not heavier exactly, but something had changed, and it wasn't the weight. It was just that the closest way for Jherik to interpret the change was to say that it felt heavier, perhaps in the same way the air feels heavier when one expects lightning. And now his arm almost began to tingle. It was almost instinctive when Jherik pointed the rod towards a nearby dead body and pushed the 'heaviness' out of it.

Jherik jumped and almost dropped it when an electric charge, almost identical to lightning, shot from the rod. Muttering a curse, he was surprised to sense that the 'heaviness' was gone, but only moments later he could feel it building again, and with it he felt out a way to control the charging. What had he done? He didn't know how, but he had somehow figured out how to make the 'heaviness' stop building, and he was pretty sure he had also figured out how to charge even faster--almost instantly. This thing was no angreal, or at least it was one that didn't require the Power. He smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn't so helpless after all.

Curious about what happened to the dead body--a horse--he checked to see what the rod had done to it. There seemed to be no change at all, but Jherik did not doubt the lethality of his new toy. There would be no physical damage if he used it on an enemy, but as surely as that horse was already dead, so would whatever that was staring down the pointed end of the weapon. That brought a smile to Jherik's face.

When he was healed and able to touch the Source again, he would have great power. The Lord Dragon would let him fight on the front lines wielding both the Power and his lightning rod. The Shadow's armies would tremble at his gaze. Jherik turned and walked toward the fighting, looking for an Aes Sedai to heal him, and for another target, but a living target this time. There must be a Fade or Trolloc around somewhere, Jherik would even make do with a darkfriend. He must make the Lord Dragon proud.


End file.
